Chapter Text
The brazier in the corner of the chamber had burned down to white ash before the middle watch. Jinshi lay on his back in the center of the imperial bed, his long hair tangled against the heavy golden silk. The mattress was wide enough to hold a family, but the fabric felt like river ice against his skin.
The voices of the old men still lingered in the corners of the dark room. They had spent the afternoon kneeling on the polished floorboards, their gray heads bowed, pushing the name-scrolls forward like checkers on a board. They had spoke of the nation’s balance, of the cracks left by the Shi clan rebellion, and the necessity of keeping the four great factions quiet.
They did not speak against the crown prince directly. The boy was still small, living under the heavy shadow of the Empress Dowager in the rear palace. Jinshi had taken the iron crown only as a shield, telling his own heart that he would carry the weight until the boy grew enough to hold the jade seal. Then, he would be free to drop the yellow robes and walk out of the high gates.
But the ministers were cunning fox-hounds. They praised the way he had held the borders during the uprising, telling him that an Empire needs a grown man's hand on the plow, not a child's. They spoke of heirs and second pillars for the throne.They said the don't want the empire to fall so he need to perform his duty as an emperor.They did not say they wanted the prince forgotten, but Jinshi knew the shape of their thoughts. They wanted to bind him to the dais with alliances and infant cries, making his temporary seat permanent before the boy could even learn to ride a horse.He knew that some of them simply don't want the Western blood to rise.
Jinshi turned onto his side, his chest tightening with a dry, hollow ache. The low heat under his skin had grown heavier since the sun went down, making his collar feel tight against his throat.
He could not take those women. The thought of their white-powdered faces and the sweet, heavy oils in their hair made his mouth turn bitter. He was a man dying of thirst in a desert, but he could not touch the jars of perfumed wine they brought to his lips.
He wanted the scent of bitter grass and boiling vinegar. He wanted the small, thin girl who used to sit on his veranda with her sleeves tied up in coarse hemp string. His fingers clutched the edge of the mattress, his palm pressing into the silk until the thread groaned. He missed the blunt weight of her tongue and the quiet, honest way she looked at the dirt by his shoes instead of his face. She was far away in the western dust, free of the walls, while he remained trapped in a golden cage, starving for the only hand that had never sought to bind him.
Flashback
He closed his eyes, his breath coming in a small, shallow sigh against the dark room, and let his mind drop back to the rainy dusk before she left the capital.
They had been standing by the low eaves of the medicine shed, the sound of the storm drowning out the distant bells of the court. He remembered the sudden, terrifying smallness of the space between them. For all his grand titles and the beautiful face that made the ministers bow, he had felt entirely naked under her quiet, blue gaze.
He had reached out, his long fingers trembling slightly as he cupped her narrow jaw. Her thumb also rested against the small scar on his cheek, his skin feeling hot against hers. He had been so certain she would pull away, that she would look at him with that familiar, cold disgust and tell him he was being a nuisance. The fear of her rejection had been a sharp stone in his throat, making him hesitate, his face just inches from hers.
But she had not moved away.
Instead, Maomao had let out a small, quiet breath that fluttered against his mouth. Her small hands, rough from the mortar and stained with the juice of winter roots, rose slowly and gathered the thick silk of his sleeves. She leaned into his palm, her weight shifting toward him until her arms wrapped around his shoulders, holding him with a sudden, solid grip that he had never expected.
When his lips finally touched hers, it was not the grand, dramatic gesture the court poets wrote about in their scrolls. It was simple, soft, and slightly clumsy, tasting faintly of the bitter licorice she had been chewing earlier in the afternoon.
The relief had washed through him like rain over parched earth, loosening the tight iron band that always held his chest. In that short, quiet moment beneath the gray sky, he hadn't been a moon prince or an future Emperor holding the fate of the Li Empire in his hands. He had only been a man, completely anchored by the simple, fierce warmth of a girl who held him as if he were just a human being, and nothing more.
Flashback ends.
He wanted that feeling even more desperately now. He clutched the blanked over his nose.He wanted to run away from this life. Tears of longing started forming in his eyes. Will be be able to meet her again?
Meanwhile his normal cough which started few days has still not cured. He's unaware of the things building up in his body.
